


Crazy (The World We Live In)

by Ren



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, Locker Room, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 07:43:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10635363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ren/pseuds/Ren
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky is skating his exhibition program to the music ofWelcome to the Madnessand Otabek is going to die. Cause of death: Yuri Plisetsky and his costume choices.





	

**Author's Note:**

> me: I think I'm getting over YOI
> 
> Yamamoto: Yuri is stripping during his exhibition program, Otabek is there
> 
> me:

There had been a Plan.

It was a carefully constructed Plan, with bullet points and diagrams. Otabek has an entire folder on his computer devoted to the most date-worthy spots in continental Europe. He has maps of all coffee shops in Moscow, St Petersburg and Almaty. The maps are colour coded.

Otabek's Plan spans months, from getting to know Yuri through skype calls and messages, to a list of restaurants in Paris and Venice and a playlist of romantic music. A lot of research has gone into it. Maybe it's a little overthought, but Otabek figures that if one wants to seduce the best skater in a generation, one needs a perfect Plan.

The Plan is good enough to deserve a capital P. It's a great Plan.

It's also, unfortunately, completely useless, because Yuri Plisetsky is skating his exhibition program to the music of _Welcome to the Madness_ and Otabek is going to die. Cause of death: Yuri Plisetsky and his costume choices. It's not a bad way to go, but Otabek is just eighteen – he hasn't even got to the part of the Plan that involves kissing, and that doesn't seem fair.

Yuri turns, giving the audience a smug look from behind his sunglasses before launching into yet another flawless quad. Otabek can't remember how to breathe. The music is very aptly named because Otabek is slowly going mad.

 _Agape_ was Viktor Nikiforov's creation through and through, a showstopper created to dazzle the audience with its jumps and the technical skills it required. _Allegro Appassionato_ was elegant and graceful, as expected of a program choreographed by former prima ballerina Lilia Baranovskaya. Yuri's short program and free skate were flawless – he's Yuri Plisetsky, he could skate to an ad jingle and make it great – but this is something else entirely.

This is a program that Yuri himself choreographed, from a piece of music that he let Otabek choose. And, from the moment the first hard rock notes echo in the stadium, it's clear that Yuri _owns_ this song. This is him: how he sees himself, how he wants to be seen. He spins in place, the sequins on his costume catching the light, and then shrugs out of his jacket with a casual movement, like he's an old hand at stripping.

The rest of Yuri's costume is – oh, god, Otabek can hardly believe this is real. It's not the most revealing outfit ever worn at a Grand Prix (Christophe Giacometti holds that dubious record) but Yuri's leather pants and tank top are giving Chris a run for his money. The pants look like they're painted on Yuri, displaying every curve of his frankly amazing ass, and the least said about the tank top, the better.

Yuri does a split jump and the top rides up, a dark blur against his pale white skin. Otabek doesn't even know if that qualifies as an item of clothing, it's more like a few strips of fabric held together with glitter. Yuri might as well be skating topless. Otabek is torn between wanting to rush on the ice to cover Yuri up and wanting to rip off the rest of his clothes.

There's really no way Otabek could stick to the Plan, not when Yuri is all but stripping in front of him. Then Yuri does the _thing_ where he slides to his knees, arching his back so his hands trail on the ice, and his top rides up way past his nipples. A small part of Otabek's brain notes the precise curve of Yuri's spine, how he's making it all seem effortless despite the obvious strain involved. The rest of Otabek's brain points out that he's just seen Yuri's _nipples_ , together with a few other thousand people, and Yuri is writhing on the ice and making it look _good_.

Otabek is definitely going to die, and it will be Yuri's fault.

\---

Otabek finds Yuri in the changing room afterwards. They're the only ones around.

Yuri, still in his costume and full makeup, takes a large gulp from his water bottle. He grins at Otabek. "Yakov and Lilia might have had a coronary when they saw, but the choreography turned out okay. What did you think?"

There's a slight sheen of perspiration on his forehead and his chest is rising and falling heavily. Leftover adrenaline, Otabek guesses. The audience's response had been thunderous.

Otabek knows that he should stick to the Plan. He should tell Yuri that he was great, but in a platonic, friendly way. He should take it slow. That's the Plan. Yuri sprawls on a bench and starts unlacing his skates.

Stick to the Plan, Otabek thinks. His voice is hoarse when he says, "Can I kiss you?"

Yuri looks up, green eyes wide with surprise, and Otabek has a few seconds in which to panic about rejection. Then Yuri grabs the lapels of Otabek's jacket and pulls him into a biting kiss.

Otabek parts his lips and Yuri licks into his mouth, making pleased little noises in the back of his throat. He tastes sweet, like flavoured chapstick. Cherry flavoured. And, just like that, cherries are ruined for Otabek too – he'll never be able to eat another one without thinking of Yuri Plisetsky's mouth. This close, Otabek can see the tiny clumps of mascara on Yuri's eyelashes.

"Were you looking at me?" Yuri asks against Otabek's lips, breathless. He wraps his arms around Otabek's shoulders, holding him close.

Otabek can barely get the words out. "I couldn't look away. Nobody in the audience could."

There's just a hint of a blush under Yuri's stage makeup. "This wasn't for the audience. I wanted you to…" He trails off, biting his lower lip. Otabek's eyes follow the movement. "Anyway, did you like it?"

Otabek doesn't think _like_ covers it. There are no words for it, really. He just stares into Yuri's eyes as he reaches for Yuri's ankle, dragging the thumb over the stiff leather of his skates before loosening the laces.

"You were amazing," Otabek manages to say. Then he amends, "You are amazing."

Yuri's breath hitches as Otabek takes off one skate and starts on the second. His feet are calloused and covered with brightly coloured band-aids, but if he's hurting after skating that insane program, he doesn't say a word about it.

As soon as their skates are off, Otabek slides on the bench next to Yuri. He wraps his arms around Yuri, pulling them flush together, feeling the warmth of Yuri's skin under the flimsy layers of fabric. Then Yuri turns around and climbs into Otabek's lap, and Otabek has to hold his breath as Yuri's leather-covered ass presses down too close to his groin. Otabek is getting hard, and Yuri can't have missed that fact since he's practically sitting on his dick.

"Thank you for choosing that song." Yuri's voice is low and breathy. "I love it."

He shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it aside with a careless gesture, and suddenly there's naked skin under Otabek's hands. Otabek slides his fingers through the tears at the back of Yuri's top. Yuri shivers under the touch; he slumps against Otabek's chest, stray hair slipping from his bun and falling in front of his face to hide his expression.

"I love it too," Otabek says. "Ever since I heard that song, I wanted to see you skate to it."

Otabek's hands run higher up Yuri's back, lifting his top. The muscles of Yuri's stomach contract on every sharp inhale as Otabek presses a kiss to the corner of Yuri's mouth, to his jawbone, to his collarbone.

On a whim, Otabek bites down on the junction between neck and shoulder, teasing the delicate skin with his teeth. Yuri gasps. One of his hands tangles in Otabek's hair, pulling hard enough to sting, and his hips jerk forward.

"Y-you…" Yuri stutters. Otabek puts his hands on Yuri's sides to steady him. "You thought it suited me?"

Otabek's thumb brushes over one of Yuri's nipples. He presses against the small, hard nub, and Yuri lets out a strangled moan. "It's very Yuri Plisetsky. Also, you drive me mad," he adds, rolling Yuri's nipple under his thumb.

Yuri leans in, crushing his mouth against Otabek's. Otabek's fingers falter as Yuri teases his lower lip. "It's mutual," Yuri mumbles before going for another kiss.

This time the kiss is deeper and slower. Otabek's eyes flutter closed as their tongues tangle together. The reality of Yuri is better than anything Otabek could have imagined. One of Otabek's hands slides down to palm Yuri's perfectly round ass. Their groins press together and Yuri moans into Otabek's mouth.

"Touch me," Yuri says, almost in a whine.

Otabek has already been touching every centimetre of exposed skin but he gets Yuri's meaning. He cups the front of Yuri's pants, feeling Yuri's erection pulsing insistently against his fingers. Yuri groans, low in his throat, and grinds down on Otabek's palm.

Otabek's thumb brushes over the zipper. "Can I?"

Yuri immediately nods, head bobbing up and down in a jerky movement. Sweat is plastering strands of hair to his forehead and his face is flushed pink. "Please," he whispers. He slides his hands under Otabek's shirt, swaying against him.

Yuri's pants are impossibly tight, it takes Otabek forever to unzip them. Yuri doesn't help, squirming at every touch, doing his best to grind against Otabek. When Otabek finally manages to slip one hand down the front of his briefs, he finds Yuri already fully hard and wet with precome.

Otabek wraps his fingers around Yuri's cock, marvelling at the warm, silky feel of him. He moves his hand tentatively; Yuri lets out a very loud moan and digs his nails into Otabek's skin.

"God, yes," Yuri manages to say, almost choking on the words. "Like this. It feels… Please, Beka…"

Otabek kisses him, swallowing the rest of his moans. With his free hand, he fumbles with his belt. His hard-on is killing him and he's moments away from coming in his pants. Yuri braces one arm against the bench and lifts his hips, helps Otabek tug his jeans down a few centimetres.

The wood and metal of the bench is icy against Otabek's naked skin, a sharp contrast from Yuri's heated body in his arms. Yuri's skin is flushed a deep crimson, the blush spreading all the way down to his chest. Otabek pushes up the fabric of Yuri's tank top, then ducks his head to press a kiss to his chest. He teases Yuri's nipple with his teeth and Yuri cries out.

Otabek can feel Yuri's heartbeat speed up as he wraps one hand around both of their cocks. It's so different from jerking himself off. Otabek strokes experimentally and has to press his face against Yuri's chest to muffle a moan. It feels too good, with Yuri next to him, it's like everything's amplified.

Yuri jerks his hips upwards, thrusting into Otabek's fist. It's rough, with only their precome to slick his palm, the friction just this side of painful. With his free hand, Otabek pushes back Yuri's hair so he can look him in the eye. Yuri's pupils are blown wide, the irises just slivers of green.

Otabek's movements speed up and become almost frantic as he feels his orgasm mounting. Yuri is swaying against him, holding him so tight that Otabek knows he'll have bruises the next day. Good, he thinks. He'll take everything Yuri gives him. He closes his eyes and presses his lips to Yuri's mouth, holding him tight as he comes all over his hand and their stomachs.

Yuri isn't far behind. Otabek is still hazy from his orgasm, and feels rather than sees Yuri as he comes apart in his arms, shaking and moaning.

"Beka," Yuri breathes out as he slumps against Otabek's chest.

Otabek falls back against the bench, breathing hard, one arm still wrapped around Yuri. When he opens his eyes, Yuri is curled over him like a cat, looking at him from under his lashes. His eyeshadow is smudged on one side where Otabek touched him.

They've made a mess of their clothes, Otabek realizes. It's all a mess. He had a Plan, there were going to be a courtship, romantic music, Paris. Not a messy handjob in the changing room. And yet, Otabek wouldn't change a thing.

He trails one hand up Yuri's spine, toying with the sorry excuse for a tank top. "Were you trying to seduce me with this?" His voice scrapes in his throat.

Yuri shivers under the touch. "Yes," he says simply, staring down at him.

"What? Really?"

Yuri snorts a laughter and leans down to kiss him so thoroughly that, if Otabek hadn't just come, he'd be ready to go.

"I've never felt like this about anyone before." Yuri turns aside for a moment, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "I thought I could wait and see if you felt the same way, but…" He bites his lips and shots Otabek a side glance. "When I looked at you, I couldn't wait."

"Me neither," Otabek says, pulling him into a kiss. "I couldn't wait a moment more."


End file.
